


Later

by prettymanly, punchdrunkard (twopunch)



Category: Tour of the Merrimack - R. M. Meluch
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Death Fix, M/M, Space Opera, Spaceships, Timey-Wimey, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettymanly/pseuds/prettymanly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopunch/pseuds/punchdrunkard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>"I refuse this reality and substitute it with my own!"</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yunitsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunitsa/gifts).



> This is not an epic, but their love is, so hopefully this will do.
> 
> Co-written by Punchdrunkard  
> 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Time, he was coming to realise, was a tricky thing.

He closed his eyes and waited, waited for the sickening lurch and terrifying nothing. Either nothing, or something.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and waited.

Waited.

Nothing happened. He cracked open a squeezed-shut eye and squinted. The command deck was still there. Not a button out of place, not a screw turned the wrong way. Everything looked the same as it had when he’d watched the missiles launch the first time, when Augustus had -- his mind shied away from the thought. Consequences. Cause and effect. He’d deal with it later, once they’d confirmed nothing had happened.

Nothing happened.

Farragut turned to look at Augustus, accusation in his eyes. “What was tha--”

The world imploded.

I was right, Farragut thought. It didn’t feel good to be right.

The world imploded, but it didn’t end. It stretched sideways, impossibly long, though Farragut was counting the seconds. Trying to. Somehow he couldn’t get to two. In the corner of his eyes, the deck bent and warped, became all blurry like a picture printed on taffy and stretched out to breaking. He wanted to open his mouth to say something. Scream. Shout. Breathe. He realized his mouth was already open, had been for the last second. It really gave credence to the idea of seconds like hours when you were dying.

He was dying. That had to be it. He was --

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

 _Augustus is in a tiny flyer, sleek and dark. He doesn't shoot Farragut. Chooses not to._

He is on the command bridge of the _Merrimack_ , trying save his marines, trying not to look at the deadly little Striker with its black and red markings.

 _"How do you know? Farragut asks. "How do we know this isn't an alternate timeline?"_

 _Jose tsks. "Now you're being fanciful, young captain."_

 _"You never outshoot a patterner."_

He is sitting with Jose, racing to Near Space, talking about Origin, the Hive, parables and Augustus.

 _This is a dark, angry universe. Caeser dies in this one. The Imperial Government of Rome declares war against the United States of America. Augustus dies saving them all._

 _"You're still an idiot," he says with far more affection than any dead man ought to have. Farragut takes one last look._

He meets a girl after it’s all over, starts over again with a light heart. He has a daughter. Names her after the strongest man he ever knew.

This one. Meets a boy with an achingly familiar face. They trade blows, then hold hands beneath the table.

Here. Meets his own death on an unnamed planet, alone and forgotten. The galaxy turns.

 _Caesar doesn't die in this one. Earth and Rome are destroyed by the Hive, nothing stops its rapacious onslaught on the universe. It eats everything. The universe starts anew._

I was wrong, he wants to say. I was really, really wrong.

He thinks he hears Augustus laughing at him, somewhere.

Augustus, he thinks. Augustus.

Time stops.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Time stopped, and the seconds ticked on again.

Earth and Rome were not destroyed.

Augustus was not dead. Yet.

They’re still on the deck of the _Merrimack_ , watching the screen as the missiles head for their target. Farragut sucked in a lungful of air, heart racing faster than it had a second ago, a subjective several lifetimes ago. He turned as he'd done in a myriad of timelines and worlds, half afraid to see Colonel Lu Oh.

There was Augustus standing behind him, looking as if he'd sucked on a crate of lemons. It looked like, in this world, there _would_ be a later. Farragut would make sure of it. Behind Augustus was Jose, and around them was the crew, not a hair out of place. Well. That navigator suddenly had short hair, and Jeffrey in tactical was now right-handed. He could live with that.

He was right! And he was wrong! John Farragut was never so glad to be wrong in his life. His lives. This could take some working out.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Farragut said with a wide grin, “I think we did it.”

But not yet. There was still the Hive to deal with, and it waited for no awkward explanations.

Augustus withdrew, eyes blanking again as he submerged in the datastorm. Farragut opened his mouth to give the order and Augustus held up a hand. "Calculating resonance," he said. "Don't talk to me." Farragut nodded. This wouldn't take long. How many times had he done it by now?

“John, Hive detected.” said Calli over the link. The crew tensed, every hand twitching for a sword.

“We got some new tricks up our sleeves, sit tight.” Farragut looked at Augustus and couldn’t stop a shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. “This is going to be awesome.”

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Afterwards. Farragut knew where to find Augustus. He’d found him a hundred times before, just not in this timeline. Maybe it was cheating, to outguess a patterner by trying all the patterns first. But he was American and Americans liked their choices. It wasn't as if Augustus hadn't been standing right next to him, making the same choices.

Augustus was a creature of habit, for all his crazy intelligence.

The torpedo rack room where they always billeted Augustus -- you’d think in some timeline they’d have gotten him a real room -- looked empty. An armless statue of Winged Liberty loomed over fancy Roman carpeting and curtains. A long, straight sword was laid on the floor, still in its well-worn scabbard. Someone had painted the torpedoes bright pink. Farragut coughed and stepped into the room. Then on second thought, picked up the sword in case Augustus still had ideas. Didn’t hurt, either way.

Farragut sat down on the hard chair. Folded his arms, unfolded them. Felt a little silly to have picked up the sword, as he wasn’t sure where to put it now. Cleared his throat. “So. I think this is ‘later,’ don’t you?” He stared at the torpedoes, wondering how long Augustus could hide amongst them. If his arms ever got tired. Remembered the reinforced, throat-crushing strength he’d felt when in another time, again, Augustus had chosen not to kill him, and decided that Augustus would get tired when he had left. No matter if he left in ten minutes, or ten years.

"So, that was some trip. Alternate universes? Alternate timelines? That penal colony one was interesting, huh? I liked your hair.” Farragut slouched, making himself comfortable. Time was less meaningful after you’d seen it from the inside out. "Nice legs too. Didn't know you had it in you to wear those little skirt things." Togas, skirts, same difference. He was just trying to rile Augustus back.

Thought he’d get a response from that one, at least. The torpedoes stayed silent. He tried again. The Farraguts were a tenacious lot. “Well okay, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I have some things I want to say to you.”

He said more than a few things.

When he was done, he sat quietly and waited. He didn’t wait long.

Augustus clattered down the ladder from the deck above. “I see you’re certifiable in this timeline,” Augustus said scornfully. "Are you talking to the torpedoes?"

Farragut craned his head around and up to look at Augustus, look way up at the tall man. “Hey, they listen better than you.” But then stopped speaking because Augustus was stripping off for some reason.

Stern and just a little angry, "There was an eighty-five percent chance that you wouldn't come down here. Ten percent that resonance was not the solution in _this_ timeline and we'd die. Five percent deviance either way. If you hadn't come down here, now, I was never going to do this." He stood naked and proud before Farragut, hands on his hips. "Do you actually _want_ an explanation?"

Throat suddenly dry, Farragut put down the sword. Turned the chair around so he could fully appreciate the picture before him. He’d seen Augustus naked many times, knew what to expect. A long body, strong and muscular, perfectly proportional though somehow still long everywhere. Smooth skin, olive but pale as anyone that worked on ships most of their lives. Dark curly hair, in a patch right there.

"Later," Farragut said as he stood up and reached for Augustus, remembering. Three worlds. Thirty worlds. He'd done this before and it still felt like the first and only time. "That explanation can come later."

Tomorrow, Augustus would accuse John of blinding him with his sunny smile when they woke up together. Maybe, maybe not.

Farragut figured he could live with it any way it happened.

 

 

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> HIGHEST APOLOGIES FOR BREAKING INTO MELUCH STYLE. It was weirdly hard not to. It’s like a horrible compulsion.


End file.
